


Survival Skills

by muirgen_lys



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Fenris and Anders getting along for once, Food Issues, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, aftermath of abuse, poor self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3876478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muirgen_lys/pseuds/muirgen_lys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders has a bunch of old, minor triggers from the circle - individually not much more than eccentricities. But Hawke's curiosity about some of Anders' behaviour catches Fenris' attention, and he finds himself having figured out more of the mage's history than he'd intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> from this kmeme prompt: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11381.html?thread=45450357#t45450357
> 
> This isn't actually new: it was posted on LJ months ago, and I was going to edit it and post it here...and then I completely stalled because my disorganisation knows no bounds. But I do want it posted here, so I'm getting 'round to it now.

“Anders?” 

Hawke glanced around the apparently-deserted clinic. Usually the place had at least a few people wandering around – patients or family members thereof – with Anders in the middle of it doing everything at once. Now he was nowhere to be seen.

“Anders?” she called again, louder.

There was a muffled “one moment!” from behind a pillar. She followed the sound. Anders sat on a crate, his coat discarded behind him, unwinding a bandage from around his left arm. The wound under it was half-healed, visibly inflamed, and bleeding sluggishly, and Hawke could see Anders' teeth clench each time the bandage shifted against the injury. She bit her lip, trying not to wince in sympathy, but despite the obvious pain, the mage's hands didn't falter.

“I suppose barging right in works too” he said dryly. He set the bandage aside, and laid his other hand over the wound. Light hummed under his fingers, and the worrisome redness began to fade, the skin drawing together and fusing as she watched. She caught a brief glimpse of a shiny new scar before he pulled his sleeve down over it.

“When did that happen?” she asked.

Anders glanced down at his arm disinterestedly, as though he'd forgotten it was there. “It's nothing,” he said. He shifted it behind himself, out of sight. “I assume you're here for a reason?”

She frowned at the non-answer, and tried to call up a mental image of the injury, an unpleasant suspicion growing in the back of her mind. Based on the bleeding, and the state of that bandage...

“You got hurt in the deep roads and didn't tell me.”

He drew back, and for a moment his expression became cold, guarded. Then he smiled impishly at her, and raised an eyebrow. “Why? Were you planning on fixing it through sheer force of personality? Because as a healer, I can testify that that doesn't actually work.”

She glared at him in exasperation, fighting the impulse to shake him and demand to know why a healer, of all people, was so unwilling to tell people when he was hurt. But his teasing expression was an obvious vote in favour of pretending it wasn't serious, and she decided, not for the first time, to let it go. 

She firmly ordered the knot of worry that hadn't quite left her chest to settle down, and flashed him an answering smile. “Well a girl can try.” She stepped closer, trying to get another look at the scar, but he stood abruptly and grabbed his coat, pulling it on with sharp, controlled motions and turning away to seal it. She reached for him, wanting to make sure he was alright, but he slid away, walking over to another crate and starting to pull out bits of glassware.

She followed him, frowning again. He clearly wanted her to forget about it, and she was willing to pretend to for his sake, but it still bothered her. She should've protected him better, taken it easier on him...found some way to stretch their supply of potions further. 

Void take it, maybe there really was nothing she could have done, but she still would have wanted to know.

“Why did you wait so long to heal it?” she asked. He moved around the crate so that he was facing her across it, and shrugged.

“I was a little busy at the time,” he said. “ Darkspawn, rock-things...if you think back you might remember something about a dragon.”

She smiled, but didn't let him divert her. “Still, if I'd known you were hurt -”

“I don't like to complain,” he said. Then, defensively, he added “It was nothing I couldn't handle. I didn't slow you down.”

That wasn't even remotely the point, but she dropped the issue and started helping unpack. 

The crate turned out to be full of empty flasks. She piled two on one arm, and reached for a third. Anders, reaching for it at the same time, pulled his hand back sharply.

“I'll come back for the rest,” he said, turning away. He moved off with his armfull of glass, and Hawke stared after him, the abandoned flask lying tipped over in the bottom of the crate. She took the two she already had over to where he was laying them out, and set them down but he cut her off before she could speak.

“I left Lirene a bunch of potions for while I was gone, but they'll be running low by now” he said. “I need to make more.”

She opened her mouth again to say something, then bit her lip, and nodded. “Sounds good,” she said. “anything I can do to help?”

He shrugged, leaving the flask he'd been working with and shifting to the far end of the row. “I can do it. But if you'd really like to, these all need to be labelled”

It was peaceful enough, though there was still something...off. She was about half done when Anders picked up an unlabelled one that had gotten mixed in with the others. She caught his wrist as he lifted it, and he froze, his arm going limp, even as he leaned away from her. His hand relaxed around the flask until she was afraid it was going to drop from his fingers. She took it gently, and let go, giving him a puzzled look. As soon as her hand was gone, he pulled his arm away and stepped back.

“That one's not done,” she said uncomfortably, by way of explanation.

“Fine,” said Anders, as if nothing had happened. “I'll get it later.”

By the time she finished the mage was deeply absorbed in his ingredients, but he looked up when she came near. She stopped a little further away then she was comfortable with, but he'd seemed to be trying to keep his distance, and she didn't want him moving off again.

“I got a bit distracted," she said. "but I came here because I...wanted to say thank you. For Bethany.”

Something flickered in Anders eyes. “I know it's not the same as bringing her home safe,” he said. “Grey Wardens don't exactly get to have normal lives.”

“It's a better chance than she'd have had otherwise,” Hawke said. She shook her head, anger at herself rising to the surface. “I should never have brought her down there.” Anders said nothing, and she shook off the self-recrimination. “Anyway, I appreciate it,” she said. "I'll leave you to your work."


	2. Chapter 2

“Have you noticed anything...odd about Anders recently?”

Fenris knocked the blunted practise sword out of her hand, and cracked her in the ribs. “I have noticed that he's an abomination, if that is what you mean.” 

She snorted but shook her head. “No. It's just...I went to see him the other day and something felt off.”

Fenris raised one eyebrow at her. “Hardly a powerful concern.”

She frowned as she moved to retrieve her sword. “It was like he was never quite close enough to talk to," she said. "Every time I moved closer, he slipped away. I felt like I was having to shout the whole time.”

Fenris seemed to consider that. “I hadn't noticed,” he said. “But the abomination and I are not friends. I haven't had much occasion to speak to him.” He raised his sword again, and she hastened to get her own into position. 

“True,” she said. “Maybe you're the wrong person to ask.” He sighed. “At the time it just made me uncomfortable...now I'm wondering if I imagined it, or if I'm making it bigger than it is. It wasn't as if he was shoving me away or anything. Just...I'd step towards him, and suddenly there'd be a table between us. Or he'd go to fetch something, and not come back until I'd gone to do something else.” The elf frowned, aiming a heavy strike at her midsection, which she dodged, taking advantage of the large movement to strike at his back. 

Fenris slid away from the blow, and turned back to her, frowning. “If you think he is hiding something-”

She shook her head slightly. “I don't think so. At least nothing magic related. Though I can think of a few other areas where a lecture on open communication might not go amiss.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at that, and she rolled her eyes. “His arm got ripped up in the deep roads. Apparently he didn't think this worth mentioning to anybody. I found out when I saw him treating it in the clinic.”

Fenris was quiet for a long moment. At last he said. “He is a healer. No doubt he could take care of it himself.”

She snorted. "Since he didn't get around to healing it until yesterday, I'd say otherwise.”

He nodded, acknowledging the point. “Still...if you do not suspect blood magic-”

“I don't,” she said firmly.

“Then I do not see that it is a concern. Some people simply prefer space. And privacy.”

“Is that code for stop checking on everybody all the time?”

Fenris shook his head. “Merely an observation,” he said. “I do not mind so much, but...it does take getting used to.”

She chewed her lip, considering. “Maybe.”

“Perhaps he disliked your perfume that day.”

She smacked his knuckles with her sword. “Rat,” she said. “I don't wear perfume.” He got her back by slamming her in the shoulder hard enough to knock her sideways. He didn't laugh, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested the teasing had been intentional. She regained her balance, and shook out her now-sore shoulder. “Alright, so maybe I am making too much of it,” she said. “I just...” she shook her head. “It bothered me a lot that he hadn't told me about hurting himself. And I owe him, now. Anders...whatever else you may think of him, he's the only reason we all got out of there alive. My family has seen enough funeral pyres.”

Fenris looked at her, compassion in his eyes despite the cool expression. “I should have said earlier – I'm sorry about what happened to Bethany. I...rather liked her, mage or no. I will miss her. Though I imagine being a Grey Warden will suit her well.”

Hawke nodded. “Thank you.” She hefted her practice sword, and brought it up into position. “One more round?”


	3. Chapter 3

“I swear, we go through those things much too fast for comfort,” Hawke commented absently, sidestepping around a heap of fallen rocks. Fenris twitched a smile, which she assumed was agreement. The others made no comment, and she let the conversation drop as their destination came in sight. 

She poked her head into the clinic, and called out. “Anders? Have you got any of those potions still hanging around?”

Silence, again. Frowning, she walked inside, only then thinking to check the lantern. It was out.

“I wonder where he could be,” Merrill said. “It seems like he's always here.”

“Don't look at me,” Hawke replied. “I have no idea what he does on his own time.” She glanced around, wondering if it would be stealing to just find them and take them. She tugged experimentally at the lid of a crate. It came off easily, but the crate was empty. A quick round of the clinic showed all were the same.

“Something I can help you with?” 

She spun around to see Anders coming in behind her. For a moment she just stood there like an idiot. Then she shook herself. “Potions,” she said. “we're out.”

He rolled his eyes. “One minute.” He crouched down behind a heap of rocks, dragging a broken crate and downed curtain out of the way, and pulling out a locked chest.

She raised an eyebrow, peering curiously at the camouflage. “Of course that's where they are,” she said dryly. “Why didn't I think to check there.”

Anders shrugged. “I prefer to have things out of sight.”

“Why?” she asked. “It's not like they'll be stolen – the thieves around here practically run people off for you.”

“I just do. Don't worry about it.” He passed her a stack of blankets, and she accepted them reflexively. “How many do you need?”

“I don't know. How many have you got?” She leaned over to look. Under the approximately four blankets she was holding were several bottles of potions, three seedcakes, half a loaf of bread, and...was that a wheel of cheese?

“You running a soup kitchen as well?” she asked, “or do you just not have any cupboards.” 

Fenris stepped up to look as well, then stepped back, frowning slightly. She looked a question at him – _Are you alright?_ \- but he didn't seem to notice.

“What is it?” asked Merrill. “Can I see?”

Anders slammed the chest shut, leaving half the potions inside. “Here,” he said tightly. “That should carry you through for a few days.”

Hawke started to ask what was wrong, but Fenris called her name, cutting her off, and she turned away.

 

Outside, Merrill asked, “Is it something dirty? Is that why he didn't want me to see it?”

“No,” said Fenris shortly. “Only private.”

“What was it then?” 

“Well I can't speak for this time,” Isabela told her, “but last time it was four apples and a mouldy pastry.”

“last time?” Hawke asked. “What were you doing there last time?”

“Aftereffects of an entertaining evening,” Isabela said airily. “There were these two _enormous_ guardsmen-”

“On second thought,” Hawke said hastily, “I don't need details. Let's just get going.”


	4. Chapter 4

The nice thing about Kirkwall was that, like most cities in chaos, it was easy enough to get work for one's sword, especially if one were willing to go outside the law now and then. Fenris had kept up such work religiously, when he wasn't otherwise occupied chasing mad humans around the city. It kept him busy, and more to the point, kept him in contact with people who had their fingers in a lot of pies. People who might mention new arrivals to the city, or new contracts out on a runaway slave.

He had found something of a reprieve here, since meeting Hawke, and taking over the mansion, but that would never last. Danarius would come for him, and he had every intention of knowing about it when it happened.

This particular job had been minor – shepherding a somewhat less than legal cargo back to its intended recipient without incident - and he was starting home, with his equally minor reward in his pocket, when he caught sight of the abomination.

A week, two weeks ago, he would have walked away without a second's thought. Anders was Hawke's problem, not his. He kept a wary eye on him when they worked together, alert for signs of blood magic, but beyond that, the mage was none of his business.

Now...perhaps between Hawke's venting and the odd encounter in the clinic he had seen more of the mage than he'd intended to. At any rate, he did not walk away.

 

The mage seemed to know the man snarling at him, though they didn't look like friends. The confrontation was quiet enough that Fenris could only hear fragments of the argument, but the angry tone of the voices was clear. 

He watched them argue, still not sure why he was there. Whatever he had seen, or thought he had seen, one hint at a shared experience did not make the mage trustworthy.

“...don't want to hurt you,” the stranger said. 

The mage squared his stance, waving a hand dismissively. “...couldn't hurt me if you tried,” came the half-heard reply. 

The stranger thrust a finger into the mage's face, and Anders flinched back, taking two steps away before rounding on the stranger again. “Don't make this a fight,” the mage snapped. “You won't like the outcome.”

The stranger grabbed for Anders, but the mage was out of reach. He grabbed again, and caught the mage by the shoulder, shaking him. His grip was weak; the mage could have pulled away. Instead he stood like a doll, waiting for it to stop.

For the space of two heartbeats, Fenris waited for the mage to move, argue, something. Then he was striding forward, covering the distance between them in a matter of moments. His hand closed on the stranger's wrist like a vice.

“Problem?” he asked tersely. 

The mage jerked his arm free, and stepped back, out of reach of both of them. “A disagreement about shipping costs, that's all. Don't hurt him.” He adjusted his coat, and glared coolly at the stranger. “We'll discuss this later,” he said. The other human nodded, and Fenris released him. He disappeared down a flight of stairs.

Anders turned to Fenris, frowning thoughtfully. “Thank you. That was...unexpected.”

Fenris shifted, unsure what to say. “I happened to be passing by.”

“Yes, I saw you. I wasn't expecting you to get involved though.”

“Have I offended you?” There was a sneer in his voice, but...less of one, than there might have been another time. 

The man was still a mage, still an abomination, still dangerous to everyone around him. But he was an abomination who flinched when a hand flew too quickly towards him. Who knew that sometimes pulling away only made things worse.

“I'm not offended,” the mage said, “Only surprised. I'll speak to him tomorrow. Give him a few hours to cool down and he's less likely to go picking fights he can't win.” He gave Fenris a curious look. “Why did you intervene?”

The elf shook his head. The truth was more of an admission than he was prepared to give, and he could think of no other explanation that made sense. “I...don't know,” he said at last, and turned to walk away without looking back.

***

“So,” said the mage carefully. “About the other day...”

They were making their way down one of the city's endless supply of stairways. Hawke's latest project had extremely vague directions, and while she insisted they'd find it, so far her confidence had not proven justified. Fenris could not match her cheerful disposition. He didn't mind the walking, but the mud was not improving his mood.

He glanced over at the mage, who was looking uncomfortable. “What about it?” he asked.

“I'd...rather you didn't mention it to Hawke,” he said. “She's been a bit overly solicitous lately. I'd prefer to avoid giving her any more cause to hover over me.”

Fenris was silent for a few seconds. “She worries about you,” he said eventually. “She doesn't understand why someone would conceal an injury they could have gotten help with, or hide food in a locked chest under a pile of rocks.”

The mage looked down, fidgeting with one hand, apparently fighting himself. “She doesn't have to understand,” he said, tension clear in his voice. “It's not...I'm not crazy. It's just-”

“Survival,” Fenris said bluntly. He felt the mage turn and give him a strange look, and he kept his eyes forward, avoiding the healer's gaze. “Hawke is a survivor of a different kind,” he said. “She understands never giving up, and fighting to your last breath. She has faced enemies she could not defeat...but never, I think, an enemy she could not fight.” 

The mage was avoiding _his_ eyes now, and somehow that made him bolder. 

“Danarius' apprentice used to amuse herself by denying me food,” he said, quiet enough that no one else would hear. “If I could hide something, a piece of fruit, or a crust of bread, and eat it when no one was looking...it helped.” 

Danarius had caught him with a stolen pastry, and made him regret taking it. He'd grown more careful after that, bolting whatever he could get too fast to taste it. She couldn't take away what he'd already eaten.

There was a long silence, but eventually the mage spoke, even more quietly than Fenris. “Eating was a privilige,” he said. “Break a rule, miss a meal. And I was in trouble a lot.” He took a deep, shaky breath. Fenris could hear it scraping in his lungs, almost as loud as the words. “You're supposed to get bread and water at least once a day, but...” he gave a one sided shrug. “Rules are more flexible when it's the Templars breaking them.” 

There was silence for another long moment, both of them considering what had just been said. 

“I'm surprised you didn't just tell her,” the mage said at last. “Or did you?”

“I told her it was your own affair,” the elf replied coolly. “Though I suspect if you were to explain it to her she would be glad to listen.”

“I shouldn't have to explain myself,” the mage growled. Then he reined himself in, and his next words came softer, and more hesitant. “I don't like talking about it,” he said. “The Templars...what's done is done. And I don't regret that they taught me to be careful, just how they did it.” He shook his head. “When I tell other people they act like I'm damaged. But to me it's just...good habits. Survival skills.”

“Some of them...are worth leaving in the past,” said Fenris. He thought of how the mage had flinched from the smuggler's pointing finger, how his body had gone lax and unresisting when the man shook him. He thought of his own reflexive obedience, so dangerous to those who sheltered him. He looked over at the human. “You are not there any more. Perhaps Hawke's kind of survival would serve you better, now.”

The mage shifted uneasily. “Perhaps.” Fenris had to suppress a smile at the doubt in the mage's voice – not because it was amusing, but simply because it was familiar. It was no easy task, to shed habits earned through a lifetime of fear.

“I can ask Hawke to leave you alone,” he said. 

Anders snorted. “I doubt she'd listen.”

The elf's lip twitched, a tiny hint of a smile. “Perhaps not,” he said.

“It doesn't matter,” Anders replied. “She'll give up eventually. Or...something. Just...don't encourage her.”

“I wont.”

“And Fenris...” he broke off. 

“Yes?”

“I'm sorry. About what they did to you. No one should have to live that way.” 

Fenris looked away, unsure how to answer. After a few moments he simply nodded, and lengthened his stride to catch up with the others.


End file.
